Parallel Protocol
by Lord Silvere
Summary: Romilda Vane executes the Order's final protocol. As hoped, she and the comatose Harry are transported to the past where she will help Harry stop Voldemort's return. H/R. Time Travel. Subtle Soul Bond. This is an experimental story designed to run parallel with Final Protocol. See A/N.
1. Prologue

A/N: This is kind of an experiment that runs parallel to my other story, _Final Protocol_. The development process for _Final Protocol_ involved me choosing three witches from the Harry Potter universe as potential non-traditional, romantic interests for Harry and sketching out an adventure/romance plot tailored to each of those three witches and their backgrounds that I thought might work. Ultimately, I liked the Harry/Susan story the best because I adore the version of Susan I am using and because the Susan plot involved time travel, which is my favorite type of plot. So, I ran with it. Recently, I got to thinking that it would be fun to take a witch other than Susan, plug her into Susan's story, and see what would happen as a different character reacted to similar situations. After some deliberation, I have decided that Romilda Vane has the potential to make an interesting story and a good challenge. So, let's have some fun. Please bear with me on this prologue—it will start with some of the same prose from _Final Protocol_.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. It is not one of the original Harry Potter novels written by J.K. Rowling. The author of this work of fan fiction receives no financial gain, directly or indirectly, from publication of this work. In publishing this work of fan fiction, the author relies on representations contained in the article "Rowling backs Potter fan fiction," authored by Darren Waters and published by BBC News on May 27, 2004.

 **PARALLEL PROTOCOL**

 **Lord Silvere**

 **Prologue**

Having just sent a message to his father with a Patronus, Ron Weasley walked the perimeter of his and Hermione's temporary campsite, casting various camouflage spells that he hoped would prevent Death Eaters from discovering the campsite's location. When he was satisfied that the spells were working and that the campsite's location was secure, Ron made his way to the tent.

Ducking in through the flap, Ron found Hermione bending over a medical exam table that had served as a camp stool until Hermione had cast a transfiguration spell on it. Atop the table rested Harry Potter's unconscious form, clothed in tattered and bloodstained battle robes.

Hermione had been patching up Harry's more life-threatening wounds and was now assessing his overall condition. "He needs professional help," she told Ron, responding to his unspoken question. "There is something wrong with his mind. Spell damage, I believe."

Harry was shivering. His green eyes were open, but lifeless. Every few seconds, some of the muscles in Harry's face would twitch as if he were having a seizure.

Ron sighed. "So, what do we—"

A subtle chime, produced by an alarm ward, alerted the occupants of the tent to the arrival of visitors near the campsite's perimeter. Ron and Hermione brandished their wands and moved toward the tent's entrance just as their visitors announced themselves from the other side of the wards.

"It's just Bill and I," Arthur Weasley called out.

Arthur, Bill, Ron, and Hermione were soon standing in a circle outside the tent discussing the situation.

"The reinforcements arrived after you two evacuated Harry. They distracted the Death Eaters and opened an escape route for everybody," Bill explained.

"How is Harry?" Arthur asked.

"Bad," Ron replied. "Hermione says it could be magic damage to his brain."

"He's not responding to anything I've done for him so far," Hermione added.

"Will he be able to recover?" Bill asked, his sharp tone betraying worry.

"I cannot make predictions without a proper diagnosis," Hermione replied.

Under his breath, Bill cursed. "This sets us back. Without Harry, there is no chance of us pursuing a successful offensive against You-Know-Who."

Arthur sighed. "And, if You-Know-Who figures out that he does not need to reserve resources for defense, he can focus on his offensive strategy."

"We need not give up yet," Hermione said. "Until Harry is dead and buried, there is some hope."

* * *

 _Three years later …_

A sober group composed of only persons whose loyalty to each other was unquestionable had gathered in an underground chamber beneath the Forbidden Forest to discuss the business of the Order of the Phoenix.

"With Hodgson gone missing, I opted to abandon the safe house," Mrs. Weasley explained. "I don't think he would betray us, but better safe than sorry, I say."

"I hope you had some help moving the residents," Neville Longbottom said. "Weren't there a lot more children than adults in the safe house with you?"

"Yes, but Susan was there to help," Mrs. Weasley said. "She will cover for me at the temporary location while I set up a more permanent solution."

Rather than wait for the gathered Order members to raise the obvious questions, Arthur addressed them preemptively. "I'll be helping Molly in her search for a new safe house. We probably need to assign an Order member with fighting experience to help Susan."

Ron Weasley sighed. "We'll see if we can find some candidates. Perhaps one of us here could be spared on a part-time basis …"

"We'll figure something out," Bill said decisively.

Everybody nodded. A long silence followed as the Order members contemplated their situation. The Order had many members. But, it had become difficult to determine which were genuine, which were spies, and which would leave the Order when membership became too inconvenient. The had made it difficult to carry out any large-scale operation in secrecy.

Bill stood up. "Now that we have addressed the most immediate concerns, it is time to take final action on an issue that we have left on the backburner for a number of years."

"Harry," Neville said sadly.

"Yes," Bill confirmed. "Harry."

"What is your plan?" Neville asked, sounding resigned.

"The best healers to which we have access have run out of suggestions for Harry's treatment," Bill explained. "To be honest, they've been out of good ideas for at least a year. They are randomly experimenting with potions both ancient and experimental. So far, nothing has had a positive effect on Harry."

Everybody in the room was nodding sadly. After Harry had fallen in battle, Order members had spent a year predicting his eventual recovery before allowing themselves to progress through the various stages of grief.

"This isn't the end of the war. We still have options that do not depend on Harry Potter," Bill Weasley said, trying to boost morale. "And, although we may not have as many duelists available like in the early days of the war, You-Know-Who is losing popularity, even among the blood purists. New recruits will come to the Order and be able to fight."

"If we're giving up on Harry, what are we to do with him?" Neville asked. "It is becoming difficult for us to protect him from Death Eater assassins."

Bill was prepared to answer this question. It was the reason he, Hermione, and Ron had called the meeting.

"Obviously, Harry still needs protection and care. There is a small chance that Harry will be revived or recover on his own. Or, maybe we will discover a use for him despite his present condition," Bill stated.

Everybody was nodding. Emboldened, Bill proceeded. "Hermione, Ron, and I have decided that somebody should take Harry overseas and care for him. It will be easier to care for Harry if he is in a country where Death Eaters do not run amok."

"It makes sense to me," Michael Corner said from where he had his arm wrapped around his wife, Ginny.

Bill surveyed the room, glancing for a moment into the eyes of each person who was present. "We need a volunteer. It must be one of us because we are the only ones who can be completely trusted. Unfortunately, our volunteer will have to go it alone. The Order cannot spare anybody else to assist with removing Harry from the country and protecting him. If things start to improve, maybe others can follow or trade off later, but the volunteer should not count on it."

"I'm sure any of us would be willing to volunteer," Neville said as others in the room nodded, some more enthusiastically than the others.

"There is something else our potential volunteer will need to consider," Hermione said quietly. "I have developed a magical procedure that we will expect our volunteer to perform as a last resort should You-Know-Who be victorious. It could turn the whole war around. Were it any other plan, I would suggest performing the procedure now, but the chance of success is too low and the price is too high. Thus, it will have to be the Order's most desperate, final protocol."

Everybody began exchanging nervous glances.

"What does the magical procedure entail?" Neville asked, his voice low.

Bill looked to Hermione, signaling her to proceed with her explanation.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment and let out a deep sigh. "The procedure involves blood magic. As with most blood magic, there will be pain for the caster. The amount of blood required also guarantees that both our volunteer and Harry will die if the spell does not work. But, the rewards could be high. In fact, the rewards could be so high that if I had any guarantee that it would work, I would do it myself right here, right now."

"And what are these possible rewards?" Neville pressed.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Harry and the volunteer will time travel. The time travel journey should revive Harry because only Harry's spirit will be travelling through time, and not his body, which is, I hope, the only part of him that is injured. And, even if the time travel alone is not enough, I have incorporated some other features into the spell that might help."

Seeing no opposition to this much of the procedure, Hermione continued explaining the spell. "After arriving in the past, Harry, who knows the key events that led the magical world into this war, can decide how to avert the catastrophe in which we have become doomed to live. Our volunteer can update Harry on what has happened since Harry fell in battle, but really, we would hope that events would not get to the point where such information would be useful."

"My death is probably inevitable, anyway, what with You-Know-Who on the loose and no Harry to fight him," Neville said. He stood up. "I volunteer."

"I'm sorry, but we cannot possibly allow that," Bill replied. "Your value here in our fights and planning meetings is simply too great. You cannot possibly be spared."

Neville sighed as he sat back down again. "I suppose you're right."

There were some quiet murmurs as the various Order members weighed the options. Hermione's description of her time travel spell had not inspired confidence in those Order members that were present. Not only did the blood magic sound scary, but it was slightly beyond the realm of belief.

Eventually a few of the braver and more trusting Order members put their names forward but were either rejected as had been Neville or compelled to withdraw their names after others had pointed out their essential nature to this or that project or concern.

"Well, I guess this idea was a dud," Seamus Finnegan observed.

"No," Ron declared, thumping his fist on a table. "This is the move we must make. This is an ace we can put up our sleeve. It would be folly to ignore this opportunity."

Bill nodded. "We have to make this work somehow. I want to see a fail-safe protocol like this in place. Not only that, but we cannot keep committing resources to protecting and caring for Harry. We must move forward, and this is the best way to relieve us of a burden and give us a backup advantage."

"Does it have to be somebody who is actually here tonight?" Mr. Weasley asked.

This comment drew Hermione's already-stoked ire. "The idea is that the people here are the most trusted and loyal members of the Order. If they're not here, then we ought not to trust them to do this assignment," Hermione said waspishly. She had correctly concluded that the lack of volunteers was based on a lack of confidence in the plan she had helped create and was feeling hurt and angry at the lack of support.

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat.

"What?" Hermione barked at her mother-in-law.

"I think there are certain members of the Order who are loyal but that are not here because we do not feel that they are able to make constructive contributions to the discussion." Mrs. Weasley said.

"Are you saying we should turn my project that I have spent months working on over to a stupid person for final execution?" Hermione asked, her voice already beginning to rise a few octaves.

"Well, not necessarily stupid," Mrs. Weasley prevaricated as Ron and Bill exchanged looks with each other and nodded.

"Then what do you mean?" Hermione retorted, crossing her arms and surveying the room with narrowed eyes.

"I move that we vest Bill, Ron, and Hermione with the authority to select a person to carry out the Final Protocol without any further discussion or input from us and then adjourn," Michael Corner declared.

"Second!" both Fred and George Weasley called.

The vote in favor was unanimous.

* * *

"I don't understand why you are unhappy," Romilda Vane protested as she folded her arms across her chest. With her prominent chin, she nodded toward a box she had placed on a rickety table in the kitchen of Mrs. Weasley's newest safehouse. "We are now sitting on a wand shipment that I, and a few others, successfully intercepted. The Death Eaters are now short a dozen wands while we are up a dozen wands."

Mrs. Weasley shook her head and gestured to Romilda's blood-stained jumper, which was still dripping with blood. It appeared that Romilda may have received some sort of wound during her escapade.

"It looks a lot worse than it is," Romilda said as she quickly tried to clean herself up by casting some cleaning spells. Her attempt to tidy herself was not successful, but her lack of cleanliness would hardly have distracted anybody from her enchanting dark eyes and long black hair, let alone her tall, thin, and curvy frame.

"From what your compatriots have told me, you were lucky to escape. You could have been captured, tortured, and forced to reveal Order secrets. All that because you decided that the best way to steal wands from the Death Eaters was to walk up onto the front porch of their supply house and knock on the door."

Romilda held up her finger to silence Mrs. Weasley. "There was more strategy to it than that. Moreover, it worked. I got the wands."

Mrs. Weasley was not impressed. "After a nasty fight."

"And I had my wand at the ready the whole time," Romilda added. "I knew the risks. I was prepared for a fight."

"That is good," Mrs. Weasley observed. "But, you came close to needing more preparation than you did have."

Romilda shook her head but said nothing. She could see that convincing Mrs. Weasley was a lost cause. But she was not about to let that get her down. She turned and was about to head upstairs for a shower and some sleep when Mrs. Weasley stopped her.

"You're about to have three visitors," Mrs. Weasley informed Romilda.

Romilda blinked. "Am I? What for?"

"They have a special assignment for you," Mrs. Weasley replied. "Wait here."

With that, Mrs. Weasley left the kitchen and went upstairs.

When Romilda turned around, she was surprised to find that Bill, Ron, and Hermione Weasley had already entered the kitchen without Romilda noticing and were looking at her appraisingly from their position next to the backdoor of the safehouse.

"I am going to guess that you're the ones with the special assignment for me," Romilda said, secretly thrilled that the entire triumvirate responsible for the Order's leadership had come to her.

"Yes," Bill said drily. "We've heard of your exploits, and some of us have concluded that it makes sense for you to carry out a special assignment."

"Give me the details, and I'll do it," Romilda said, attempting to strike a casual, but confident, pose.

"Not here," Ron replied.

"Where, then?"

Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen and interrupted the discussion by handing Romilda a small suitcase filled with her belongings. "Good luck, dear," Mrs. Weasley said before exiting and leaving the group alone again.

"If that's everything you need, let's get going," Bill said.

"All right, then," Romilda said, not betraying so much as a shred of hesitation as she began following their lead.

* * *

Moving so as to avoid any detection or tracking, the governing triumvirate of the Order of the Phoenix took Romilda to an abandoned Muggle apartment building and led her up to the tenth floor. Romilda surveyed the furnishings of the flat and walked over to the windows so as to get her bearings.

Through the windows, Romilda looked out over the city of London. More than a couple of ambulances and fire engines, guarded by police and military vehicles, were moving throughout the city, their lights flashing. On the horizon, a faint green glow and flashes of colored light in the darkened sky suggested that Death Eaters had been at work.

Slowly, Romilda turned away from the window, folded her arms, and focused her attention on Bill, Ron, and Hermione. "Will you reveal the details now?" Romilda asked, making a deliberate effort to sound confident and mature as she carefully held her pose.

"Yes," Bill said. "In short, what is going to happen is that we will be entrusting Harry Potter to your custody so that you can remove him from the country and take him overseas for his own safety. Once you've established yourself overseas with Harry, you will be serving as his around-the-clock nurse and bodyguard."

"For how long?" Romilda inquired.

Bill shrugged. "Until further notice."

"Okay," Romilda said slowly, studying the faces of Bill, Ron, and Hermione as she tried to ascertain how serious each of them was being. "And that's all there is to it? Surely you have more details for me than that."

"There is also something we call the Final Protocol," Ron piped up.

They quickly explained the details and logic behind the Final Protocol to Romilda, who listened without making any interruptions.

"I can do that, too," Romilda agreed as soon as the process to execute the Final Protocol had been outlined for her. "It sounds like a great idea. I am surprised nobody thought of it before."

Hermione looked at her skeptically. "Are you sure you don't have any questions or concerns?"

"The blood magic sounds straightforward to me," Romilda responded. Had any of her old school friends been around, she would have whispered to them that as a pureblood, she was not likely to be put off by the idea of blood magic. But, Romilda had no more living school friends, and, over the years, Romilda had gained a small amount of situational awareness and tact.

"The blood magic involves dying," Hermione reiterated.

Romilda nodded. "I picked up on that. I also picked up on the idea of death only being temporary until the time travel magic kicks in."

"But we cannot guarantee the time travel magic will kick in," Hermione warned. "That is why it is our last option."

Romilda shrugged. "It is no different than going into a battle or raid. Just this night, I participated in a mission where I could have been tortured and killed if captured."

"Looks like you didn't escape unscathed," Bill said, eyeing Romilda's bloodstained jumper.

"You would be more correct than you know," Romilda responded as she shifted her pose ever so slightly and forced a smile onto her face.

Hermione arched an eyebrow at Romilda while Bill and Ron nodded in approval, apparently not yet having been briefed on the exact details of what had happened on Romilda's "mission." But even then, as boys, they would have been less likely to find fault with her bold approach.

"I do have some questions about the nursing part of this assignment," Romilda informed them.

"What kind of questions?" Hermione asked.

"First, precisely when will Harry and I arrive in the past?"

"You will arrive a couple of months before Harry's first year at Hogwarts begins," Hermione answered. "Or, in other words, a couple of years before you begin Hogwarts."

Romilda accepted this information without comment, and as she moved to her next question, she subconsciously raised a hand to her mouth to stifle a small fit of immature giggling. "So, if I'm Harry Potter's nurse, does that mean that, uh . . ." She couldn't finish and instead blushed while grinning.

Hermione's eyes bugged out. "You know what? Forget it!" she said, throwing up her hands and walking out of the room.

"Uh, just stay here for a few minutes, please," Bill instructed Romilda before he and Ron rushed out of the room to catch up with Hermione.

* * *

"This was a bad idea," Hermione said as soon as Ron and Bill caught up with her.

"No, it's not," Bill said. "Did you see how quickly she agreed to do all of that? She's on board, just like we predicted."

"Because she's an overconfident idiot," Hermione retorted. "And immature, too!"

"She doesn't have to be smart," Ron pointed out. "She lays low and stabs herself and Harry if we lose the war. If and when the spell kicks in, they go to the past and Harry is completely revived. After that, what she does is completely irrelevant. Harry will take it from there."

"And do you think Harry will appreciate us having shackled him with the likes of her?" Hermione demanded. "He does not like her. I mean, for Merlin's sake, she tried to feed him sweets laced with a love potion!"

"He will be able to ignore her," Bill pointed out.

"Not really," Hermione guiltily muttered without providing any elaboration. "As for her actions being irrelevant, she could actually mess things up pretty badly if Harry cannot control her. What if Harry decides to proceed against You-Know-Who at a slower more methodical pace but she wants to go fast? She knows enough to stir the pot and throw the timeline so far off that Harry's knowledge will be useless."

"Good point," Bill quietly murmured as a silence fell over the group.

"See?" Hermione said. "We need someone else."

"There is no one else, Hermione," Ron said. "You know that. You did all the analysis of the Order members yourself. At least two of us have vetoed every other candidate."

"Let's talk about whether she can be kept under control if and when she reaches the past with Harry," Bill said. "Let's define the concerns we are now having and then find a workable way to address them."

Hermione pursed her lips.

* * *

Romilda slowly turned away from the window as Ron, Hermione, and Bill filed back into the room. "That was more than a few minutes," she observed.

Bill shrugged. "We were just ironing out some last-minute kinks in the plan. So, are you ready to accept this assignment?"

Romilda nodded.

"Very well," Bill said as Hermione looked on with a mask of indifference. "In that case, we will need you to . . . swear a magical oath. After that we will brief you on what will be happening in the next few days."

Romilda willingly produced her wand. "What kind of oath?"

Ron produced a small piece of parchment on which he had outlined the key points of the oath. "In addition to swearing that you will carry out this assignment as instructed, you will need to swear to not intentionally betray Harry's interests and to not intentionally do anything in the fight against You-Know-Who that Harry has told you not to do."

Romilda frowned as she considered whether she wanted to swear any oath like that.

"You'll also need to swear that you will not administer love potions to Harry," Hermione said.

Romilda smirked and reflexively raised her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle that did not quite arrive.

"Are you going to swear the oath?" Hermione asked.

"I suppose so," Romilda responded, rolling her eyes. As Hermione, Bill, and Ron watched, she held out her wand and performed the oath. "Happy?" she asked as soon as she was finished.

"Yes," Ron said.

"Good," Romilda said, putting away her wand.

The group lingered together for a few more minutes to discuss preparations before leaving Romilda to spend the next several days alone in the building while she waited for Harry to be prepared for transport. Eventually, Ron, Hermione, and Bill said their goodbyes before apparating away.

As soon as Romilda was sure that she was alone, she pumped both of her fists in the air and let out an excited squeal. For her, this assignment seemed like a dream come true. But, the excitement was short-lived. When her Hogwarts education had ended with the fiery battle of Hogwarts in her fifth year, Romilda had learned that from time to time, one must be serious. Tonight, she had a throbbing reminder of that reality.

Romilda let the façade she'd been displaying since her encounter with Mrs. Weasley fade away. Slowly, she limped to the bathroom of the tenth-floor flat that the Order leaders had helped her commandeer. She was pleased to discover that the lights and water worked. As warm water gushed from the faucet and into the sink, Romilda removed a good amount of her clothing to reveal where a couple of cutting hexes from her earlier exploits had hit their target.

Blood was still oozing from the wounds a little more quickly than Romilda would have hoped, considering how long it had been since the wounds had been inflicted. Feeling herself going into an all too familiar state of shock, Romilda decided to go lie down on the bed before attempting to patch herself up.

* * *

"It isn't complicated," Bill Weasley told Romilda after he finished stowing her suitcase into a Muggle ambulance that the Order had procured. I understand it is as simple as pushing that pedal when you want to accelerate and the other when you want to stop. The wheel is for you to steer, of course. The magic will take care of the rest. We have spent a lot of time casting spells to handle every situation you might encounter on your journey. You will fit in with Muggles on the road perfectly."

"You also have to turn the key in the ignition to start the motor," Hermione added.

"Right," Romilda said, standing next to the open driver's door of the Muggle ambulance.

Ron Weasley was also standing by, holding three items Hermione had brought along. Hermione took one of the items, a leather satchel, and presented it to Romilda.

"Here are the recipes and information for every potion you might need to give Harry. The directions cover every brewing detail down to how to cut up the ingredients," Hermione said. "We will attempt to send you suggestions for potions and dosages. But, as you already know, communication will be limited. You may as well experiment with the potions and dosages as you see fit. We've thrown in a few recipes that we did not have a chance to try before now."

"All right," Romilda said, accepting the satchel and placing it in the ambulance. "It can't hurt to experiment as long as I keep the daggers nearby, right?"

"Let's not be rash," Hermione sighed as she relieved Ron of a briefcase and handed it to Romilda. "This contains cash and documents for the banks to which Harry's liquidated wealth has been transferred. The money has been properly laundered and passed through many accounts in many countries. Still, you should probably withdraw it mid-journey and then slowly deposit the funds elsewhere once you have settled down."

Romilda nodded as she accepted the briefcase and moved to place it with the potion recipe satchel.

Finally, Hermione took a small wooden box from Ron and handed it to Romilda as soon as the briefcase was in the ambulance.

"The Final Protocol," Hermione announced, sounding a touch dramatic. "The instructions we discussed are inside. When you arrive at your final destination, you should memorize the instructions so you can carry out the procedure quickly, if needed. Also, do not keep the instructions too close to the box in case an intruder happens to find the box or the instructions."

Romilda was placing the wooden box in the ambulance when Neville Longbottom and Arthur Weasley arrived with Harry, who was lying comatose on a stretcher. A moment of silence passed as Neville and Arthur loaded the stretcher bearing Harry into the back of the ambulance. As Ron and Hermione said their goodbyes to Harry and watched Neville and Arthur close the back doors of the ambulance, Bill Weasley took Romilda aside for a private word.

"Daily, I tell myself that Harry will recover quickly or that one day the Order will win our war of attrition against You-Know-Who," Bill said. "I wish I could say I was convinced."

"And why aren't you convinced?" Romilda asked.

"Dumbledore told Moody and Moody told me," Bill said, "that Harry is the only chance to bring You-Know-Who down. In sheer magical power, only he can hope to match You-Know-Who. There is also a prophecy."

Romilda's eyes widened with excitement. "I knew it! Will you tell me what it says?"

"No."

The expression on Romilda's face became more serious as she shook her head. "I'm afraid that I am going to have insist."

It took several moments of Romilda staring intensely into Bill's eyes before he caved in. "Suffice it to say that the prophecy predicts Harry's birth and specifies that only Harry and You-Know-Who are the only ones who can kill each other."

A curious expression came over Romilda's face as she absorbed what Bill had told her. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Bill said. "In light of that information, surely you must appreciate the importance of protecting Harry and his health," Bill instructed Romilda. "And should Harry regain his faculties, you must treat him as the leader of the Order. Even if his decisions about the fight against You-Know-Who run counter to the Order's prior strategies or seem strange, just follow Harry's lead. He has his ways of knowing You-Know-Who's mind. And, when it comes down to it, he is probably the one who must face You-Know-Who in the end. We trust him."

"As you direct," Romilda said as she took this new information to heart and kept a couple of insights to herself.

The Order members present watched Romilda climb into the driver's seat and pull the door shut as she started the motor. As she pulled away, the ambulance's lights automatically began to flash.

Soon, the ambulance was out of sight. Yet, the Order members who had seen Harry and Romilda off remained, staring into the distance at nothing.

Checking to see what kind of reception the ambulance's wireless had, Romilda guided the ambulance through the busy streets of London. As Romilda exited the city limits, the ambulance's lights stopped flashing, the appearance of the ambulance subtly changed, and the ambulance almost literally faded into the darkness of the night as it raced to remove Harry Potter from the land that had fallen beneath Lord Voldemort's shadow.


	2. Full Speed

**PARALLEL PROTOCOL**

 **Lord Silvere**

 **Chapter One: Full Speed**

 _Approximately three months after Harry Potter's evacuation from the United Kingdom …_

The sound and shockwaves coming from the vibrating walls of Harry and Romilda's Baltimore flat woke Romilda up at one o'clock one the morning. Blearily, Romilda sat up in bed and pushed her sleeping mask up to her forehead. "Are you kidding me?" she asked as she listened to the the racket caused by her neighbor's stereo system.

"I'm done being patient. They are about to receive a piece of my mind," Romilda informed Harry, who was lying next to her in the bed.

Harry made no response.

"I'm glad you've learned that trying to stop me is futile," Romilda told Harry as she hopped out of bed and put on her bathrobe and slippers.

Yawning, Romilda grabbed her wand, stuck it up her sleeve, and headed toward the front door of her and Harry's flat. As she reached for the door, Romilda subconsciously checked to confirm that she was wearing the necklace that served as an emergency portkey. The portkey, when activated, would take Romilda directly to Harry's side. The necklace could also be activated remotely by Romilda's alarm wards, which were set up around the apartment.

Satisfied that she was wearing the necklace, Romilda pulled open the front door to her flat and stepped into the hall, wrinkling her nose as she did so. The hallway outside of the flat was foul and reeked of refuse and drugs. She had deliberately chosen to live in a poor urban area and had comforted herself with the thought that she could use a little magic to spruce up her own apartment. Unfortunately, the cleanliness and luxury in Romilda's flat stopped at the front door.

Romilda walked down the hallway and pounded on her neighbor's door. There was no answer. It seemed that the music was too loud for knocking to be heard. Romilda pounded again during a lull in the music, and somehow, someone heard her. The door opened, and Romilda found herself face to face with a heavyset woman.

"It's one in the morning!" Romilda exclaimed. "Turn it off!"

Had Romilda been more attuned to body language, what happened next would not have been so surprising. The woman punched Romilda in the face and muttered a racial epithet as the force from the punch propelled Romilda into the wall behind her. The door slammed as Romilda slumped down into a sitting position on the floor.

Shocked, Romilda sat on the floor for about a minute before remembering how disgusting it was. She picked herself up and made her way back to her flat where she iced her eye with a slab of beef and rooted around in the kitchen until she found an individually wrapped Muggle twinkie. A little more searching produced a vial of a potion designed to enhance one's sense of hearing. Humming, Romilda opened the twinkie wrapper and proceeded to inject a few drops of the potion into the twinkie.

From there, Romilda moved to the bathroom. There, in the only room of the flat without a window, Romilda proceeded to cast a few key spells on the twinkie and its plastic packaging. The result was that the twinkie and its packaging appeared harmless and undisturbed.

Another couple of spells ensured that the twinkie would be found only by its target. Feeling satisfied with the result, Romilda returned to the foul hallway outside of her neighbor's door and deposited the twinkie on the doorstep. Continuing to hum, Romilda scampered back to her apartment, shed the bathrobe, and tried to go back to bed, sorely wishing that she could dose herself with a sleeping potion.

* * *

 _Approximately nine months later …_

On the anniversary of Harry's evacuation from the United Kingdom, Romilda found a coded message addressed to her from the Order of the Phoenix in the copy of _USA Today_ that she had snagged from a vending machine on her way back from the local convenience store.

Romilda's handwritten translation of the message now sat on the kitchen counter as Romilda stood by a window looking down at the street below. The news had not been good. In fact, it had been awful.

Abruptly, Romilda abandoned her post at the window and stalked to the bedroom where she performed a thorough examination of Harry and attempted in multiple ways to garner a reaction from Harry that might indicate some level of consciousness or mental functioning. Nothing she did elicited a response.

As always, there was no comprehension in Harry Potter's eyes. His face still twitched regularly, but not in response to anything in his environment.

Romilda sighed as she acknowledged to herself that her impromptu examination had been pointless. She knew that Harry's condition had changed little over the course of a year. Harry now shivered less often. Romilda had been put off by the shivers at first. Now, she wished he did it more often because she had concluded that the absence of his shivering was a sign of decline instead of recovery.

Frustrated with the results of her examination, Romilda stepped back from the bed and alternated between frowning at Harry and scowling at the collection of standard potions she kept on the bedside table. As she wrestled with the problem in her head, Romilda concluded that it was time to start doing something different.

 _But what?_ she wondered.

* * *

The delivery boy from a local Chinese restaurant stood in the entrance way of the apartment and stared appreciatively at Romilda's tall figure and long hair as she fumbled around in her purse for some cash to pay him.

"Just hold on," Romilda sighed as she gave up on the purse and darted to the bedroom to see if she had left her wallet in there. She soon returned with her wallet from which she began counting out Muggle dollars to cover the cost of food and delivery.

"I see that you ordered the same combo you always order," the smitten youth said, attempting to break the ice.

Romilda cracked a smile. "I'm the type of girl that figures out what I want and stick to it."

The delivery boy winked at Romilda. "Maybe you should experiment with the other stuff on the menu."

Romilda paused. "Experiment?"

"Yeah, try something new," the delivery boy nodded hoping that Romilda would catch his drift.

"Maybe I will," Romilda said, smiling broadly. She handed a generous wad of cash to the delivery boy. "Have a good night."

She then shut the door and locked it so quickly that the delivery boy only escaped being caught in the door by a matter of a few millimeters. Romilda carried the bag of Chinese food to the counter and let it sit while she searched through the apartment for some paper or a notebook. Finding a notebook, she then gathered all of the documentation for Harry's standard and experimental potions.

Soon, Romilda had various open boxes of Chinese food spread through the apartment as she paced the floor and analyzed Harry's potion regimen. At first, Romilda tried to analyze the ingredients, intended effects, potential side effects and dosage levels of each potion. But, Romilda was no Ravenclaw. Abandoning the ingredient lists, Romilda fetched a calendar.

Instead of trying to figure out the details of each potion, Romilda would methodically alter Harry's potion regimen to experiment with each potion. The first round of experiments would involve increasing and decreasing the dosages of each potion, one at a time. From there, she would experiment with various combinations.

* * *

 _Approximately three months later …_

Late on a cold, December night, Romilda was crouched down in the aisle of a convenience store shoveling twinkies into her shopping basket when she found herself in the middle of an armed robbery.

Romilda remained crouched down near the store's floor as she listened to a rough male voice make demands to the store clerk. Apparently, the robber had thought to catch the clerk alone in the store and had not seen through the windows that Romilda was also in the store.

Abandoning her shopping basket, Romilda quietly crawled to where she could peek out from the end of the aisle and assess the situation. The store clerk was not handling the situation well, and it looked to Romilda as if the things could escalate to the point of violence.

Romilda's battle instincts kicked in, and she quickly evaluated what she could do to foil the robbery without getting the clerk killed and without openly using enough magic to bring the American magical authorities to the scene.

Seeing nothing that could be used as a weapon, Romilda drew her wand and cast a spell on one of her hands before putting her wand back up her sleeve. Romilda then stood up and quietly moved toward the robber, who was preoccupied with threatening the clerk.

When Romilda was within striking distance, she cleared her throat. Startled the tall and muscular robber turned to look at Romilda, keeping his gun trained in the direction of the store clerk who was too frightened to do anything but stare.

"Hello, there," Romilda said, smiling.

The robber was entranced with Romilda's face and did not see her curling her hand into a fist. Abruptly, Romilda lashed out. Without the magic spell on her hand, the bones in Romilda's delicate wrist would have shattered into a dozen fragments. But instead, her fist hit the robber in the face with the force of a speeding dump truck.

The force knocked the robber unconscious and propelled him into the convenience store's counter from where he slumped to the floor. Swiftly, Romilda grabbed the gun and pointed it at the store clerk. "I am going to have to ask you to destroy your security recordings," she said. And then, as an afterthought, she gestured to where she had left her basket of twinkies. "Also, you'll need to ring me up."

* * *

A few days later, Romilda was digging through the recycling bin located next to the apartment complex's mailboxes. She was looking for reading material in the form of Muggle magazines but was mostly finding discarded copies of the local newspaper with its blaring headlines and musings about the secret identity of Baltimore's newest superhero—Twinkie Girl.

Romilda was flipping through a tabloid when one of her elderly neighbors approached her.

"Hello, dearie," Mrs. Miller said.

Romilda had dropped the tabloid and was a millisecond away from brandishing her wand when she recognized the woman from next door. "Hello," she said, pasting on a friendly smile.

"You know, it does get lonely at this time of year," Mrs. Miller told Romilda, "and I've noticed that you're lonelier than most. Why don't you come up with me for some hot chocolate?"

Romilda was paranoid enough to suspect a trap, but the possibility of a trap or ambush had never deterred her before. There was also the fact that Romilda was as lonely as Mrs. Miller suspected.

"If it's not too much of an imposition," Romilda responded.

"Of course not," Mr. Miller declared. "I even have tea, if that's what you folks from the other side of the pond prefer."

Soon, Romilda and Mrs. Miller were sitting in Mrs. Miller's microscopic sitting room imbibing hot chocolate and chatting about their lives.

"I've been a widow for ten years now," Mrs. Miller told Romilda. "So, that's my excuse. What's yours? Still looking for Mr. Right?"

Romilda boldly embellished the truth. "I already found Mr. Right. But he died, and I am now a widow myself," Romilda said, deliberately overlooking the fact that her so-called husband was only mostly dead.

"Really?" Mrs. Miller said, intrigued. "At so young an age?"

"Death comes to us all, soon or late," Romilda said sagely as the topic of conversation brought to her mind the memories of her experiences fighting for the Order against Voldemort and his allies.

Her young age and reputation for being overly bold and slightly rash had prevented her from being placed on the front line of the more important engagements. But, the Order's depleted numbers had guaranteed Romilda a piece of the action if a battle ever lasted too long or if there were too many offensive or defensive actions for the more seasoned Order members to handle in a short period of time.

In fact, Romilda had been one of the reservists called to the battlefield where Harry had fallen. She had helped provide the backup that had enabled the frontline fighters to evacuate Harry from the battlefield without receiving further injuries or being captured.

Had Mrs. Miller been talking to any other young woman, she would have scoffed at Romilda's attempt to appear philosophical. But, there was something in Romilda's eyes and posture that gave Mrs. Miller pause.

"So," Mrs. Miller said, breaking the silence that had fallen, "you are widowed and stay home all day nearly every day. Don't you have a job? Surely you want to be doing something."

"Oh yes, I have a job," Romilda confirmed. "I do it from home, though."

"Everybody wants to work from home now," Mrs. Miller sighed. "How can you get anything done at home? And isn't that boring? Wouldn't you like to take some business trips?"

Romilda shrugged. "The job is not demanding. The proceeds from my husband's life insurance cover most of my needs."

"I see," Mrs. Miller said, being polite but feeling skeptical.

A small ding sounding seemingly from nowhere caused Romilda to set down her mug. "I have something in the oven. Perhaps we could repeat this another time."

"Yes. Let's do that, Mrs. Miller said, feeling intrigued by her new friend.

Romilda was soon back in her apartment. There was nothing in the oven, but there were a couple of potions on the stove. Yawning, Romilda gave the potions a stir and began funneling them into various beakers. In the past, she had carefully eyeballed each potion and tested the quality. But, so far, the results of Romilda's experimentation with Harry's potion regimen had not left Romilda feeling that it mattered whether she got the potions right or not.

* * *

 _Approximately twelve months later …_

The year had taken its toll on Romilda. As the seasons had progressed, Romilda had methodically continued with her testing schedule of Harry's potions while trying to maintain her sanity in the confines of a small apartment.

She had not yet reached the end of the experimental schedule she had mapped out over a year previous. But, she was beginning to see the writing on the wall. Out of all the potions the Order had placed in Harry's regimen, only one made a noticeable difference, and that difference was not meaningful.

Halloween had brought news of the Order being decimated in a key battle. And then, the holiday season had arrived to highlight Romilda's loneliness.

Over the months, Romilda had continued to develop her friendship with Mrs. Miller. Thus, on the first day that Mrs. Miller was back from a Thanksgiving visit to some extended family, Romilda was on Mrs. Miller's doorstep holding a large canister of hot chocolate powder that she wanted to give to the old lady.

"Hello, dearie," Mrs. Miller said as she opened the door and beamed at Romilda.

Soon, the two were deep in conversation. After a year, Mrs. Miller had become bolder in her conversations with Romilda. And so, without skirting the issue any longer, she turned the subject to Romilda's family. "You've never mentioned any parents or siblings. Do you have any? Is visiting them an option?"

This instantly put a damper on the conversation.

Romilda shrugged and took a long sip from her mug to avoid answering.

"Are your parents dead?"

"I don't think so."

Mrs. Miller frowned. "Don't you know?"

"They were alive the last time I heard," Romilda said, setting her mug down on Mrs. Miller's coffee table and folding her arms.

The old lady changed her tactics. "Where you did grow up?" she asked.

"London," Romilda responded as she unfolded her arms and picked up the mug.

"Where in London, dear?"

"A small flat in an area near Charing Cross Road," Romilda said, her tone of voice faintly tinged with embarrassment.

"I see," Mrs. Miller said.

They two sat in silence for a bit, each sipping their cocoa.

"My mum is an office worker," Romilda said. "Always has been. I guess you could say she works for the government. My dad has had a lot of jobs over the years. Always something new or different. It kept things interesting."

"Yes," Mrs. Miller agreed as she quickly painted a picture in her mind of Romilda's childhood. Her family had probably relied on the mother's meager salary for the necessities. Whether Romilda's father had been an asset or a liability was not clear.

* * *

As the clock inched toward midnight and the new year, Romilda lay in bed next to Harry. As she was wont to do from time to time, she was holding and studying the knives given to her for the purpose of executing the Order's final protocol.

"You know," she said looking over at Harry. "I don't think I could really kill you if I tried."

Naturally, Harry made no response. Although, given a proper chance, he probably would have liked to make a reply.

Romilda dropped the knives onto the bed between her and Harry, rolled over onto her side, and propped herself up on one of her elbows so that she could hold a proper pseudo-conversation with Harry face-to-face.

"According to the prophecy, only You-Know-Who can kill you. So, if I were to take the knives and do the deed, Fate would have to make good on the prophecy and not let you really die. The only way Fate can make that happen is to make Hermione Granger's magic work and to let us go back in time."

Romilda paused. "On the other hand, if the time travel does not work, I guess it might be possible for you to transform into a bodyless wraith. Isn't that how You-Know-Who survived for all those years after he tried to kill you when you were a baby?"

Frowning, Romilda went back to lying flat on her back and playing with the knives. "But, what if being a wraith is better for the time being? If you are not technically dead, then surely you would still have a chance of defeating You-Know-Who."

"On the other hand, what does defeating You-Know-Who accomplish? Could it be that it is too late for us to make a difference?" Romilda mused as she once again set aside the knives and stared at the ceiling of the bedroom. "Rather than risk a confrontation with You-Know-Who, shouldn't we use the time travel magic regardless of whether you recover?"

Unbidden, an image of Harry's disapproving gaze came to her mind. With just a small inkling of guilt, Romilda recalled the time she had tried to sneak Harry a love potion. In the years since, Harry had never mentioned the incident to her, but she had suspected that it had prevented him from becoming friendlier. It had certainly prevented a romance, and that was one of Romilda's bitter regrets.

"I suppose you would prefer to be able to make that decision for yourself," Romilda sighed. "And, you are the leader of the Order. So, I suppose you are owed the best possible chance of being able to make the call."

The sound of fireworks exploding in the sky outside drew Romilda's eyes to the clock. It was midnight, and the new year had arrived.

"So, what will the resolution be this year?" Romilda mused. She hopped out of the bed and paced around for a little bit. For some reason, she could not keep herself from repeatedly glancing toward where the knives were lying on the bed next to Harry.

Abruptly, she strode back to the bed, grabbed the knives, and plunged each into the headboard of the bed, one after another. "Let's make this our last year of living out this tragedy," Romilda vowed.

* * *

As January proceeded, Romilda approached her potion brewing and experimenting duties with new vigor. She wanted to know, once and for all, by the end of the year, whether any of potion recipes to which she had access could or would make a difference in Harry's condition.

To that end, she revised the testing calendar, halving the trial and observation periods. She would have slashed the time requirements even more harshly were it not for the fact that she had yet been unable to successfully brew some of the more complicated experimental potions. Perhaps when she was able to brew those potions, she would revise the schedule again.

At the end of January, Romilda found a coded message from the Order of the Phoenix in _USA Today_. According to the message, Romilda's parents had died either during a Death Eater raid in Diagon Alley or during the battle that ensued when reinforcements from the Order of the Phoenix had tried to evacuate the targets of the raid.

Romilda walked around the apartment in shock for several minutes before returning to the newspaper to recopy the coded message and decode it. When she saw that her first decoding of the had been correct, the dam broke.

Romilda sobbed for several minutes before anger set in. "What good did it do you?" Romilda shrieked angrily. "Cowards!" She picked up the newspaper and her writing materials and threw them on the floor. "Maybe you didn't have to fight, but you could have hidden!"

She went back to her sobbing as she proceeded to kick over a kitchen chair before running into the bedroom and throwing herself on the bed where she quietly cried for a while. Romilda was lying on her back, staring at the knives embedded in headboard of the bed when a knock sounded on the door.

Using the peephole, Romilda found that it was Mrs. Miller from next door. Blushing, Romilda used her sleeves to try to wipe at her eyes before she stepped out into the hall to speak with the elderly neighbor.

"What's wrong, dearie?" Mrs. Miller asked as she eyed Romilda with concern.

"My parents died," Romilda said woodenly.

Mrs. Miller immediately reached out to hug Romilda. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said as she tried to comfort her. "Why don't you come to over to my apartment for a bit? I'm sure it will make you feel better."

Soon, Romilda and Mrs. Miller were seated in Mrs. Miller's sitting room as Romilda babbled about her feelings all while safeguarding key details that would have made the conversation much more comprehensible to Mrs. Miller. Despite the difficulty, Mrs. Miller made a valiant effort to comfort Romilda, and Romilda was grateful.

* * *

Soon, Romilda was visiting Mrs. Miller every day, though sometimes their visits were only one- or two-minute stops as one or the other left their apartment or was coming home from an errand. At first, Romilda was desperate for some company to get through the grief. Eventually, she started telling herself that she was checking up on her elderly neighbor.

As for Mrs. Miller, she enjoyed the friendship and felt like it was her role to make sure that her lonely neighbor did not develop mental or emotional health problems. To that end, Mrs. Miller would often prod Romilda into talk about her feelings.

"I take it you were married early in life," Mrs. Miller mused one day.

"Yes," Romilda agreed as she cast her mind back to the time she had told Mrs. Miller that she was a widow.

"I am guessing you were trying to get out of your parent's house because of all the emotional complexity," Mrs. Miller hypothesized. "Otherwise, why get married so young?"

"Flat," Romilda corrected. "My parents' flat."

Mrs. Miller nodded. "Yes, I remember. Now tell me, did you enjoy your marriage? Was it an improvement? Was it fulfilling?"

Romilda shrugged. "Why is this relevant?"

"I'm trying to understand why you are not seeking out a new relationship," Mrs. Miller said.

Stifling a sigh, Romilda carried on her lie. "My marriage was great. I loved my husband."

"Why did you love him?"

"He was great and good and kind and powerful and heroic," Romilda said, pretending for the sake of conversation that she had been in a relationship with Harry Potter.

This pattern of questioning and answering continued for some time. Eventually, Mrs. Miller presented an amateur diagnosis. "I think you had an unrealistic and overly idealistic opinion of your husband and rushed into marriage as a way to escape your situation at home."

"That's ridiculous," Romilda scoffed, telling herself that Mrs. Miller could not possibly be correct because she had not actually had a relationship with Harry and because she had not moved out from home on account of getting married. "Besides, what does it matter? We had a good marriage, and then he died."

"But did you have a good marriage? Did he really love you? Did you love him for who he was? Were you in love with a person or an idea?" Mrs. Miller asked.

"He loved me," Romilda retorted, but internally she was realizing that Mrs. Miller may have blindly touched on one of the key reasons for why her attempt to gain Harry's attention had been ineffectual. "What is the point of this?"

"I think you ought to start looking for a new husband," Mrs. Miller advised.

"Spare me," Romilda said. "Or at the very least, please promise that you will not start bringing strange men around to meet me."

Mrs. Miller only smiled.

Later that night, as Romilda was lying in bed and about to turn off the lights, she turned over onto her side and stared at Harry's scar. Cautiously, she reached out and touched it with her finger. As she pondered the scar, its legend, and Harry Potter as a person, Romilda fell into a deep sleep.

* * *

 _A few months later …_

Late on the afternoon of Halloween, Romilda paced back and forth through the apartment as she waited for her latest attempt at one of the experimental potions to cool down so that she could evaluate whether she had made it correctly.

Her success with the experimental potions had been hit and miss. The resulting delays had put Romilda at risk of missing her end-of-the-year deadline to be done with testing. Fortunately, Romilda had started attempting to brew experimental potions early enough so that she could continue with experiments on the standard potions while waiting for successful attempts at brewing the experimental potions.

Whenever Romilda successfully brewed an experimental potion, she halted the normal schedule and tested that potion immediately. So far, none of the experimental potions had helped Harry. There were now only three left: the one she had attempted brewing tonight and two that she hoped to master in November and December.

A small dinging noise alerted Romilda that the potion was ready for evaluation. Romilda strode over to the stove and began evaluating the results using the description of the potion that the Order had provided her. A smile broke across Romilda's face as she got to the end of the documentation and concluded that she had at last successfully brewed one of the harder experimental potions.

Humming, she poured the potion into a large beaker and from there poured a dose's worth into a vial. As soon as it was time for Harry's next round of medications, she would be experimenting with it.

* * *

The potion had no effect on Harry. At least, nothing had happened in the hour after Romilda had dosed him with it and sat at his side waiting. Dejected, Romilda took her customary position at the main window of the darkened apartment and watched as various children navigated the neighborhood with bags of candy.

"At least we are one step closer to the goal," Romilda quietly observed to herself as minutes of watching children trick-or-treating quickly turned into an hour of peaceful observation.

As the second hour since Harry's being medicated ended, a familiar noise startled Romilda out of her reverie. It was a noise she had heard all too often during her time as a foot soldier for the Order of the Phoenix—the rattle of somebody taking their final breaths.

Quick as lightning, Romilda ran into the bedroom and found Harry struggling for breath. As her eyes flicked to the empty vial, Romilda realized that the experimental potion had poisoned Harry. An intense feeling of relief surged through Romilda's being. Circumstances were forcing her to do what she had long ago concluded was the only logical step.

Without even realizing that it might be possible to reverse the effects of the poisoning and without even a hint of hesitation, Romilda reached for the knives that she had embedded into the headboard ten months previous.

* * *

Harry's consciousness, lost all those years ago, returned, except that he was dead. For the first time in years, he could see what his eyes were seeing, and it was horrifying. The corpse of a woman rested atop his own corpse, her dead eyes staring into his dead eyes. Strangely, he thought he could hear her crowing triumphantly.

Harry focused on the dead woman's face. She looked familiar somehow—the grown-up version of somebody he had once known when she was younger. _Romilda Vane? Is that you?_

 _Yes,_ Romilda responded, _we're about to time travel so that we can stop Voldemort_. _I'll meet you in the past._

Before either Harry or Romilda could continue the conversation, the chain reaction Hermione had engineered and fueled with Romilda's sacrifice and Harry's power transformed almost all of reality into nothing more than a dream of a past future to be remembered only by its two sole survivors.


	3. Demon of Mercy

**PARALLEL PROTOCOL**

 **Lord Silvere**

 **Chapter Two: Demon of Mercy**

It was in the early hours of the morning, but young Romilda Vane was awake. From her perch on the window ledge of her small bedroom, she was peering into the alley below. The rustling among the refuse below betrayed the movement of vermin and prospective predators. The still air carried clearly the sound of a dog barking in the distance and a baby crying in a nearby flat.

From inside the Vane family's two-bedroom flat, Romilda heard the sound of the front door as it was gingerly opened and quietly shut. Reflexively, she braced herself. Her father was not an angry or mean drunk, but her mother could provoke even a saint to anger.

Within seconds, Romilda could hear terse whispers in the hallway. It sounded like her mother had been waiting up. Romilda's father responded to the terse whispers in kind, his words undiscernible, but Romilda knew that the volume would stay low for only so long.

Anticipating what would come next, the young witch shifted her weight as she began to reach to shut the window so that she could avoid the embarrassment of having all the neighbors hear the Vanes fight again.

Before Romilda's hand made contact with the window, she was overcome with what the average observer would describe as a seizure. Romilda fell to the floor and began convulsing as her mother, on the other side of the shut door to Romilda's bedroom, began screeching at her drunk and unemployed husband.

* * *

Harry Potter woke up in the darkness of the cupboard under the stairs in the Dursley residence. Confused, Harry tried to look around and understand where he was and what was happening, but was unable to determine much because something was wrong with his mind.

Various memories in the form of sounds, images, feelings, and even smells and tastes started to crash down on Harry's consciousness. Voldemort. Pain. The corpse of Romilda Vane. Every desperate moment he and the Order had endured. He even thought he could hear a man and a woman yelling at each other in the distance. Harry tried to shove those thoughts and sensations aside and focus on his surroundings, but he could not.

A female voice suddenly intruded into a far corner of Harry's mind.

 _Harry?_

 _Harry, answer me!_

It was difficult for Harry to even acknowledge, let alone focus on, that corner of his mind, though his curiosity as to the nature of this strange voice in his head was piqued as much as it could be.

Harry tried hard to figure out who was calling his name. The voice seemed slightly familiar.

 _Talk to me, Harry._

 _Romilda Vane?_ Harry wondered, thinking that perhaps he and she were still dead and that her corpse was nearby. It sounded like it might be her. Before Harry could think on Romilda more, his mind moved back to his memories of a battle in which he had fought and fallen. Harry's mind seemed to be attempting to orient itself in the battle, even though the battle was long over. It reminded Harry of a couple of times when he had been unable to sleep because of a severe fever and borderline delirium.

 _Yes, I'm Romilda. We've time travelled. We're in the past to stop Voldemort. Talk to me._ Romilda's voice echoed in Harry's mind.

Harry's tried to answer, but was distracted again as he lost control of his thoughts. It was at this point that Harry concluded he was not fine.

 _Harry?_

It may have been Harry's imagination, but he thought he felt a trace of fear from the voice in his head.

For Harry, stringing more than two coherent words together and pushing them to the far corner of his mind so that Romilda could hear them was as hard as pushing a boulder up a hill. _Help m-m-me,_ Harry pleaded before his mind exploded into uncontrolled confusion and chaos.

* * *

As the row between Mr. and Mrs. Vane began to escalate, the convulsions that had wracked young Romilda's body abruptly ceased, and the future version of Romilda Vane found herself staring at the ceiling of the bedroom of her childhood home.

For the first time in her life, Romilda smiled as she listened to her parents engage in one of their rows. The time travel spell had worked. Their existence and their fighting proved it. The smile did not last long, though. A flood of childhood memories had poured into the forefront of Romilda's mind.

As Romilda shied away from childhood memories of her parents, a strange feeling or presence in the back of Romilda's mind caught her attention. Confused, Romilda focused on it and tried to understand what was happening in her brain. There was something familiar about it. It seemed like a person. Romilda took a guess.

 _Harry?_

The presence in Romilda's mind twitched. It had recognized the name.

 _Harry, answer me!_ Romilda demanded, beginning to feel slightly annoyed. The time travel had worked. That meant that Harry should now healed from his battle injuries.

 _Talk to me, Harry_ , Romilda coached as she examined the presence in her mind and sensed feelings of churning and chaos. As Romilda waited for a response, a feeling of foreboding entered into her chest.

 _Romilda Vane?_ came the response from Harry.

Relief coursed through Romilda. _Yes, I'm Romilda. We've time travelled. We're in the past to stop Voldemort. Talk to me._

There was no response.

 _Harry?_

The response from Harry was a long time coming. _Help m-m-me_.

 _What's wrong?_ Romilda demanded.

A telepathic twitch indicated a response might be forthcoming, but not soon. Using her mental energy, Romilda threw herself toward the part of her mind that was Harry and dug in, trying to understand what was going on.

Romilda found chaos. Unfamiliar thoughts and images began to consume Romilda's attention. For a second, Romilda forgot that she was Romilda and that she was lying on the floor of her bedroom in the Vane family's Diagon Alley flat. Upon recalling this fact and realizing that she had forgotten it, Romilda concluded that she had best disengage from the presence in her mind lest she be consumed.

 _What's wrong?_ Romilda repeated, trying to mold her thought so that it might pierce the chaos she had experienced. The technique seemed to work.

 _Brain._

 _What about your brain?_

Like the other responses, Romilda had to wait a little bit for it.

 _Sick_.

Romilda sighed bitterly as she quickly jumped to the conclusion that time travel may not have completely healed Harry, though she took comfort from the fact that he seemed to be able to communicate with her more than he had ever communicated with her or anybody else over the past years.

The question now, for Romilda, was what to do. She sat up from where she had been lying on the floor, pursed her lips, and looked toward the bedroom door. From beyond, she could hear her parents continuing their row more quietly, but with the usual intensity.

Romilda knew without a doubt that her parents were not going to be open to entertaining some story about Harry Potter and time travel from their nine-year-old daughter, let alone be helpful even if they did believe her story.

 _Shall I try to send help or should I come myself?_ Romilda asked Harry as she tried to think of a good way to get word to Professor Dumbledore or some other trustworthy Order member without having provide an awkward explanation to her parents or whoever might be able to loan her an owl or let her use their Floo.

 _You._ Harry insisted.

 _Where are you?_ Romilda asked. But, before Harry could answer, Romilda realized she could point in Harry's direction and sense that he was not too far away from London. _Never mind. Tell me, will you be okay if it takes me as long as an hour to get there?_

 _Yes._

"Okay, then," Romilda said to herself as she stood up and began surveying her room for any useful items and assessing whether she could use the window as an exit. She did not really intend to take an entire hour. But, if Harry had insisted that he could not wait an hour, Romilda would have taken it as a sign that Harry's condition was worse than he was admitting.

 _I'm on my way,_ Romilda reassured Harry as she swiftly plotted her next move.

It turned out that there was little in Romilda's room that would prove useful. Ownership of a wand was still two years in the future for her, and her toys had few practical applications. A broomstick would have been nice, but Romilda had not ever seriously used one until the war against Voldemort had been in full swing.

Having concluded she had no useful equipment or supplies, Romilda turned to the closet. It was also largely devoid of anything Romilda felt she could use. Unfortunately, when Mrs. Vane had purchased clothes for her daughter, she had done so with the vision of a pureblood princess in her mind.

Romilda chuckled quietly as she cast her mind back to when she had last crossed paths with her parents and had been dressed and equipped as a resistance fighter. The chuckle turned to a sigh as Romilda longingly ran her hands over some of her favorite play dresses.

Because Romilda suspected she would benefit more from stealth than from the ability outmaneuver and outfight an opponent and because she did not have an outfit that would allow her to do both, Romilda settled on a simple charcoal-colored dress that she thought she had probably worn to some distant relative's funeral.

Romilda swiftly changed from her nightie into the dress and put on a pair of black ballet flats. Studiously ignoring what sounded like the end of her parents' row, Romilda proceeded to climb through the window and out onto a rusty ladder that had been nailed to the side of the building as a token salute to the concept of fire escapes.

From the bottom of the ladder, Romilda dropped the last several feet into the alley and landed in a crouching position. As various rodents and felines scampered away in fright, Romilda began feeling around among debris using the faint moonlight as a guide. After several seconds, her hands closed around a brick. Quietly and triumphantly, she picked up the brick, hefted it as she stood up, and was on her way.

* * *

For Romilda, as she had expected, it was an uneventful fifteen-minute walk through the various side streets of Diagon Alley to the entrance of Knockturn Alley. But, at the entrance of that infamous street, she hesitated. One did not simply stroll down Knockturn Alley in the night—brick or no brick.

 _It won't be as dangerous as if this were the war_ , Romilda rationalized as she thought back to her various experiences with Knockturn Alley during the war. Unfortunately, Romilda did not have any experience with Knockturn Alley during peacetime and could not be sure that the lack of wartime conditions would make a difference. And then, there was the possibility that Knockturn Alley was safer during wartime.

Normally, Romilda would have borrowed confidence by reassuring herself that she had the element of surprise or training on her side and would have ploughed forward, but she was conscious of her lack of a wand and of the need for her to get safely to Harry. So, she faded into the shadows and waited quietly as she watched Knockturn Alley for about twenty minutes.

Having seen or heard nothing to concern her, Romilda quietly began her trek down Knockturn Alley, working to exude confidence and purpose while sticking to the shadows. Soon, she was standing just across the street from Borgin and Burkes, staring intently at the darkened storefront.

"You owe me, and everybody else, for that matter," Romilda mouthed silently to the absent owners of that shop as she tested the weight of her brick and assessed the strength of her magical core. Much to her surprise, Romilda found that her magical core was as strong or stronger than it had ever been. That was good because what she was about to do was not exactly her forte.

Taking a deep breath, Romilda darted toward the storefront and hurled the brick toward the windows. As the brick hurtled toward the windows, Romilda curled her hand and cast the only wandless spell she had ever practiced.

"Accio!" Romilda hissed at the exact second the brick connected with and shattered the glass, the sound of which echoed through the night.

The instant she felt the cool grip of a wand slip into her hand, Romilda disapparated as the shrieks from various alarm wards reverberated throughout Knockturn Alley.

* * *

Adrenaline surged through Romilda's body as she quickly apparated and disapparated through a familiar cycle of locations in a way designed to throw off anyone who might try to analyze her magic residue and follow her. Such maneuvers had been a regular part of her role as an Order fighter until she had been appointed to serve as Harry Potter's nurse and bodyguard.

She paused the routine after landing in a thick forest. Quietly, she navigated through the underbrush toward a clearing where there was enough moonlight for her to examine the wand she had stolen from Dark-themed antique shop. So far, she had sensed nothing amiss aside from the wand being a poor match for her. Seeing nothing worrisome in the wand's appearance by the pale moonlight, Romilda reached to the corner of her mind that seemed to be her connection to Harry and focused on her sense of Harry's location relative to her. She then disapparated toward Harry.

Romilda's sense of direction through her link to Harry was precise enough that she appeared in the cupboard under the stairs at #4 Privet Drive. The lack of space in the cupboard proved to be unfortunate. Romilda ended up banging her head on the slanted ceiling and falling onto the bed and onto Harry in a tangle of limbs.

"Is that you, Harry?" Romilda whispered.

 _Ugh_ , Harry communicated mentally, apparently reacting to having someone apparate on top of him and knock the air out of his lungs.

"Sorry. It's me, Romilda, in case you were wondering," Romilda said as she shifted her weight off of Harry so that she was kneeling on the bed next to him. She held up her newly acquired wand and cast a spell for some light.

Light from the wand revealed a spider dangling a few inches away from Romilda's nose. Romilda swiped at the spider, and, as it fell to the floor, she saw yet another spider scurrying into a corner. "Merlin, this place is infested," she muttered. "Where are we, anyway?"

Harry did not respond.

"Do you know where we are?" Romilda asked Harry, both speaking aloud and forcing her words into his mind through her mental link with him.

 _Home._

"This must not be a very good home," Romilda muttered with surprise as she performed an inspection of the surroundings. Determining that they must be under a staircase, she found the door, pushed it open, and peered out into the hall. Seeing a normal-looking Muggle residence with nobody in sight, she pulled the door shut and proceeded to perform as good an examination of Harry and his condition as she could in the cramped space.

"I don't see anything wrong with you physically," Romilda informed Harry after having eyeballed, poked, and prodded him for a few minutes. "Do you feel any physical injuries I am not seeing?"

 _No._

"Okay," Romilda said, surmising that Harry's troubles were still the mental variety, which made sense, considering the injuries he had received in the future. She looked into his eyes and was pleased to find that their brightness had returned, though there was not as much movement as she thought there should be.

Romilda also sensed that his eyes were not properly focusing on her or their surroundings. She confirmed this by waving her hand in front of his eyes. Although waving her hand garnered a reaction, Harry's eyes did not follow her hand.

"Can you talk to me with your voice?" Romilda asked, once again speaking both aloud and mentally.

After a long pause, Harry's response came telepathically. _No._

"Can you sit up or move your hand or something? Maybe wiggle a finger?"

The response was again slow in coming. _No._

"Okay, then," Romilda murmured as she peered into Harry's eyes and tried to come up with a plan to cope with the situation.

She came up with two options. Careful to both speak aloud and telepathically, Romilda presented the options to Harry. "I can take you to St. Mungo's, or I can brew up some of the potions the Order was doing you with in the future and see what they do for you."

 _Future?_

"Yes, the future," Romilda explained. "You have been very ill for a long time. The Order helped us time travel to the past so that you could recover and defeat Voldemort. It seems you have brought some of your injuries with you."

By lightly probing her connection to Harry, Romilda was able to sense that this information had completely confused and overwhelmed Harry. But, she could also sense that he was processing the information, albeit slowly. Surmising that he would say something when he was ready, Romilda took the opportunity to work on coming to grips with the situation and developing patience.

Beginning to feel cramped, Romilda shifted herself and Harry around so that there was just room enough for the both of their small frames to lay on the bed next to each other. She had just gotten comfortable when Harry finally responded.

 _Potion._

"No hospital, then?"

 _Right_.

"That's the more complicated option," Romilda sighed. "You will need to give me a little information to go on before I get started. Let's begin with whoever lives here. Would I be correct in guessing that they are more or less hostile?"

* * *

Professor Dumbledore apparated into Knockturn Alley and found a small team of Aurors gathered just outside of Borgin and Burkes. It appeared that Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt was in charge.

"What happened here?" Dumbledore asked.

"It appears to be a simple smash and grab," Kingsley yawned, turning his attention away from the junior Auror who was preparing the report on the incident.

Dumbledore eyed the shop and its broken window. "Does anybody know what was stolen?"

"No," Shacklebolt responded. "The owners stopped by and did a quick walkthrough but could not immediately determine whether anything was missing. For reasons I cannot possibly imagine, they do not maintain a written inventory of their stock."

The Auror engaged in writing the report snickered at Shacklebolt's lightly veiled sarcasm.

"Yes, the hazards of trafficking in Dark artifacts," Dumbledore observed, his blue eyes twinkling. He was about to say something, but a messenger from the Ministry apparated onto the scene and interrupted.

"How long before you finish here?" the newcomer asked Kingsley.

"A few more minutes," Kingsley responded. "Is it something urgent?"

The newcomer wrinkled her nose and passed off a piece of parchment to Kingsley. "It can wait a few minutes. A nine-year-old witch pulled a runner last night. The parents are in hysterics. Here's the information."

"Could it have been a kidnapping?" Dumbledore asked.

"No. Witnesses say the parents had a loud row last night. Undoubtedly, the poor kid was trying to hide from the conflict."

Kingsley shook his head sadly. "I'll make my way over as soon as I can."

This was good enough for the messenger, and she promptly disapparated back to the Ministry.

"I'm sorry you came all this way for such a small matter," Kingsley said to Professor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore shrugged. "I like to keep abreast of any incident that is tied to the Dark Arts. Small things can add up quickly."

"As always, you're welcome to stop by any of my crime scenes," Kingsley said with a smile. "I just feel bad when there isn't anything interesting for you. Now, if you'll excuse me, it looks like I must make a house call."

* * *

The Dursley family was rudely awakened early in the morning by somebody incessantly ringing the doorbell. Grouchily, as his wife and son stirred from their sleep, Vernon Dursley pulled himself out of bed, put on a bathrobe, and made his way down the stairs and to the front door, which he proceeded to throw open.

On the front doorstep, he found a young girl. She was wearing a dark charcoal dress and had her dark hair pulled into a professional-looking bun.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, eyeing with apprehension the stick she was holding in one of her hands.

"I'm a witch from the Ministry of Magic," the young girl announced.

"What?" Vernon exclaimed. "A little girl?"

"It's a disguise," the girl said. "If you'd prefer me to transform into my usual, hideous self, I would gladly oblige you."

"No!" Vernon yelled as he looked up and down the street to see if his neighbors had noticed him interacting with the nine-year-old on his front porch. "Just go away. We don't want anything to do with your kind." He tried to shut the door, but the girl inserted her small foot, and the door got stuck.

Peering through the crack in the door, the girl continued the conversation. "There's been an infestation, and the Ministry has reason to believe that at least one person in your household has been infected. Has anybody woken up this morning displaying the symptoms of what you might call a stroke or apoplexy?"

"No!" Vernon yelled as he tried to push the door shut. "Now, go away you freak!"

"What is happening?" Petunia Dursley asked as she passed Dudley on the second-floor landing and proceeded down the stairs.

"There's been an infestation," Romilda called out to Petunia. "You'd better check everybody in the house for signs of infection."

While Vernon growled and sputtered at the young intruder, Petunia, who already knew Dudley was okay, proceeded to check the cupboard under the stairs. It was immediately apparent to her that Harry was not well. She let out a panicked shriek.

Soon, all the Dursleys were standing in the living room with Romilda as she explained to them that, during the night, the house had been infested with invisible magical spiders, the venom of which was sure to leave the average uninoculated witch or wizard bedridden for weeks, if not buried in a hazardous waste dump with leftover plutonium, uranium, and nerve gas.

When the Dursleys asked Romilda whether the magical spiders could harm them, Romilda's prevarications, attempts to avoid answering that question, and heartfelt apology for not having any anti-venom to spare sent them into a full-blown panic. Seemingly taking pity on the Dursley family's plight, Romilda suggested that if they vacated the house for a few weeks, she could arrange for the spiders to be exterminated and for Harry to be nursed back to health.

To the Dursleys, this sounded like an excellent plan, and they began packing their things and planning for an extended holiday, rejoicing that their summer vacation would not involve their freak of a relative. It was at this juncture that Romilda felt compelled to inform the Dursleys that their possessions were probably infested, too.

Vernon and Petunia were smart enough to realize that if their possessions were infested, their clothes were likely also infested. This led to a fresh round of panic and hysteria as all the Dursleys became convinced that they could feel the spiders crawling around in their clothes and biting them.

Once again, Romilda had the solution. And so, they all proceeded to the privacy of the backyard where the Dursleys removed their clothes, and Romilda used the garden hose to spray them down with freezing cold water to ensure that there were no more spiders to bite them.

Naked, the Dursleys piled into their car and drove away as Romilda stood on the front porch and waved goodbye before retreating inside to look after Harry.


	4. Doubles

A/N: Lest you think I am getting carried away, please allow me to emphasize that everything that happens in this story is something that could have or could still happen in Final Protocol.

 **PARALLEL PROTOCOL**

 **Lord Silvere**

 **Chapter Three: Doubles**

Within minutes of the Dursleys' departure, Romilda transfigured one of their living room's couches into a bed and moved Harry into it before plopping down into a nearby armchair for a breather. As far as she could tell, Harry was miserable and confused, but stable.

Romilda realized that it was a strain for Harry to communicate with her, but she could see no other choice. Decisions needed to be made, and Romilda was not about to violate her magical oath to the leaders of the Order of the Phoenix by inadvertently countering Harry's wishes.

 _Harry_ , Romilda said telepathically, beginning what was likely to be an intensely lengthy discussion because of Harry's mental limitations. _I know you wanted me to brew potions for you instead of taking you to St. Mungo's, but I've just realized that I don't have the recipes memorized. So, it may be that going to St. Mungo's is the only choice. I'm sure they are capable of looking after you. I'm sure we can come up with some explanation for the situation._

Harry's response came relatively quickly and proved to be emphatic. _No._

Romilda was sorely tempted to demand an explanation, but in the alternate future, she had learned that explanations sometimes had to wait. In this situation, she was fully aware that each word was costing Harry tremendous energy. At this moment, she needed Harry's directions more than she needed his explanations.

 _How am I to get potions for you, Harry?_ Romilda asked, hoping either that he would have a useful answer or that he would realize he was being unreasonable and consent to go to St. Mungo's.

Harry's response to that question was much slower. Romilda was not sure whether it was slow because Harry was having to think or because Harry had expended too much energy while insisting that he not be taken to the hospital. Finally, the response came. _Bank._

 _That gets me money and, eventually, ingredients_ , Romilda acknowledged, taking comfort in the reminder that Harry was not without funds on which she could draw. _It does not get me any potion recipes. I need recipes. The recipes I had were tailored for you or were only recent inventions. They cannot be duplicated. I could try generic potions_. _Is that something you are willing to risk?_

There was no response. Romilda cautiously probed Harry's mind using whatever connection it was the two now seemed to share. From her probing effort, Romilda could tell that Harry's mind was in overdrive. Concluding that Harry was working on an answer for her, Romilda patiently leaned back in her chair, wondering whether he would settle on a solution or give in and allow her to take him to St. Mungo's.

After a couple of hours, Harry presented his solution.

 _Buy pensieve_ , Harry instructed in a clipped telepathic communication.

Romilda could not recall ever hearing of such a thing, but she supposed the goblins would be able to help. She made her way to the Dursleys' kitchen and rummaged around in the drawers until finding a pen and notepad, which she used to write out a note for Harry to sign.

Returning to living room, Romilda read the note to Harry.

 _I, Harry James Potter, hereby designate Romilda Vane as my agent for all intents and purposes. She may access my vault(s), funds and property and use my funds and property._

Harry did not say anything, but Romilda could sense that he approved of the note.

Placing Harry's signature on the note proved to be a chore, particularly since Romilda was relying on a Muggle ballpoint pen. Eventually, Harry, with Romilda guiding his hand, achieved what barely passed for a squiggle. For good measure and with relatively little extra effort, Romilda added a drop of his blood.

Soon, Romilda was on her way.

* * *

Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt arrived at the Vane family's small flat in Diagon Alley to discover that they were not precisely in hysterics as had been described to him. It was true that Mr. Vane was crying and taking long draws from a bottle of firewhiskey. But Kingsley, who had come across Mr. Vane before, thought that was about par for the course, aside from it being early in the day.

Mrs. Vane was not hysterical. Rather, she was furious with her husband for being a bum and with her daughter for sneaking away.

"When did you discover that your daughter was missing?" Kingsley asked after greetings and introductions had been exchanged.

"This morning," Mr. Vane said with a sob. "She vanished from her bedroom."

"How would you know?" Mrs. Vane demanded, directing a glare at her husband.

"So, was it this morning or not?" Kingsley asked.

"Yes, it was this morning," Mrs. Vane confirmed, her voice steely.

"Any signs of foul play?" Kingsley asked.

"No," Mrs. Vane responded as her husband blubbered.

"Mind if I take a look at the bedroom?"

"Not at all."

Kingsley was soon in Romilda's bedroom and wishing that he could run away from Mr. and Mrs. Vane, too. He cast a few detection charms. The results came back negative for any magic or any other signs that something untoward had occurred.

"Well," he said as he returned to where he had left Mr. and Mrs. Vane, "it does look like a simple runaway case. I'll send some folks from my department to ask around with the neighbors. But, primarily, I think we can just wait for her to turn up. She cannot have gone far."

"My poor baby," Mr. Vane sobbed as Mrs. Vane glared at him.

* * *

With Harry's note in hand, Mr. Vane's poor baby apparated to the steps of Gringotts, trotted into the bank, and approached what appeared to be the receptionist goblin.

"I need to meet with a personal banker," Romilda said.

With a small amount of curiosity and plenty of thinly veiled disdain, the receptionist goblin eyed the young and somewhat shabbily dressed witch before him.

"Do you have an account here?"

"Not precisely," Romilda hedged.

"Silveredge can help you," the goblin said, smirking and pointing to the area of the lobby where the tellers worked.

"Thank you," Romilda said, not out of gratitude, but because she could not think of any other way to terminate the conversation.

She made her way over to Silveredge, a forlorn-looking bank teller and presented Harry's note to him. "That receptionist over there says that you're my new personal banker. I am going to need some extensive services, if you would be so kind."

Silveredge read over the note and directed a grin of malicious glee toward the receptionist before turning his attention back to Romilda. "As soon as I verify the authenticity of this note, we can get started."

Ultimately, it took about a minute for the bank to verify the authenticity of the note that granted Romilda authority to act as Harry Potter's agent. It took another three minutes for the sullen receptionist goblin to set up Silveredge in his new office. Once Romilda and Silveredge were alone, they got down to business.

"Harry Potter needs to purchase a pensieve," Romilda announced.

"Does he have a specific pensieve in mind?" Silveredge asked.

"He did not say," Romilda admitted. "Is there any chance you can tell me what a pensieve does?"

"A pensieve is a receptacle in which one may view and store their memories or the memories of others. In a way, it lets one relive the past. The bank would be happy to make inquiries and prepare a list of purchase options for your or Mr. Potter's review," Silveredge responded.

Romilda winced. It seemed Harry's pensieve idea, albeit good, was likely to be about as difficult as any other option. She stifled a sigh, knowing that the transaction was about to become expensive. "He needs a pensieve urgently. Today, if possible."

"I had better start making the inquiries now," the goblin said as he stood and departed from the office.

After about half an hour during which Romilda poked and prodded at her link with Harry, partly to monitor his status and partly to try to understand the link itself, Silveredge returned.

"It appears that it will not be possible to purchase a pensieve today," Silveredge said. "But, we can arrange for you to borrow a pensieve until a purchase of another pensieve is achieved."

Romilda felt relived. Realizing that she and Harry were not likely to need the pensieve after she had recreated the potion recipes, Romilda asked if she could just pay to borrow the pensieve and forego the purchase.

In response to Romilda's question, Silveredge shook his head in the negative. "It will be no small feat for the bank to arrange for you to borrow a pensieve today. The only way we will do it is if we can be assured that we will be collecting a commission for brokering the pensieve purchase."

Romilda was not pleased. She was not a skinflint, but she was well aware of the value of money and had already concluded that she and Harry were going to be relying on Harry's money quite a lot in the coming months, if not years, in their quest to prevent Lord Voldemort's rise to power. "Can Harry Potter even afford to buy a pensieve?"

Silveredge rushed to reassure Romilda that Harry's fortune was more than adequate enough to support the purchase of a pensieve. That led to an in-depth discussion of Harry's assets. Silveredge would have liked to discuss a new plan for managing and investing the Potter fortune, but Romilda settled for committing to the pensieve transaction, setting up channels for her to withdraw or spend funds anonymously, and vaguely promising to return to the bank for further discussions.

Regrettably, the loaner pensieve had not become available by the time Romilda's meeting with Silveredge concluded.

"We can owl it within a few hours," Silveredge promised as he and Romilda stood up from their respective chairs. "Shall we address it to you or Mr. Potter?"

"Mr. Potter," Romilda said as she realized that it was already past time for her to follow the best practices that had been drilled into her as part of her training as a fighter with the Order and cast a number of stealth and anonymization charms on herself.

"We will send it to Mr. Potter, then," Silveredge said.

"Thank you," Romilda said as she allowed herself to become distracted by thoughts of the various charms she should use to protect herself and Harry.

Before returning to Privet Drive, Romilda made her way to the apothecary, which appeared to be having a slow day. An inquisitive clerk helped Romilda assemble an array of potion brewing implements and ingredients.

"First year at Hogwarts?" the clerk asked, sounding doubtful but not sure why else a young-looking witch would be purchasing such a broad array of products from the shop.

"No. Wedding gift for my sister from my parents," Romilda said as she picked up a store catalog and thumbed through it. She then picked up a small stack of order forms and slipped them under her arm. "My mum is busy preparing for the wedding."

"Congratulations to your sister, then," the clerk said, smiling as he finished wrapping up Romilda's parcels.

"Thanks," Romilda said as she gathered up the parcels, left the shop, and disapparated away as soon as she was out of sight.

* * *

By the time Romilda had returned to Privet Drive, reported her progress to Harry, and fed herself and Harry, the pensieve had still not arrived. So, Romilda set out to erect wards and cast charms to ensure security and privacy. She did not get far.

When evicting the Dursleys from their home, Romilda had envisioned that she would keep the Dursleys away from Privet Drive for the rest of the summer while she worked in the comfort of their home to help Harry achieve a full recovery.

The more Romilda thought about the Dursleys and the spells she wanted to cast on their house, the more she realized that sending them away and camping in their house had been a bad idea. Summer would not last that long, and then, if Harry had not recovered, she would have to deal with the Dursleys or move out. And, there was no guarantee that the Dursleys would stay away for the entire summer.

With a sigh, Romilda concluded that she had best move herself and Harry away from Privet Drive so that she could care for Harry in a protected location without having to worry about hostile Muggles underfoot.

Instead of erecting wards and security charms, Romilda set about to restore the Dursleys' house to pristine condition so that, when they returned, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley would have no reason to doubt that Romilda had been a Ministry worker who had kindly purged their house of all pests, including the one known as Harry.

Romilda also placed a few extra charms on various items around the house. With Romilda's charms in place, those items would constantly emit auras that would serve to make the Dursley family feel secure and superbly satisfied with their lives. With any luck, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley would be in so much bliss that it would never occur to them that their nephew's disappearance seemed fishy.

* * *

With a Gringotts-issued credit card in hand, Romilda strolled into the lobby of The Savoy. Instinctively, she gravitated to a corner of the lobby and observed the comings and going at the front desk for a while before seeking out a public phone in the lobby. Disguising her voice, she phoned in a reservation for a suite, hoping that it would have enough room to set up temporary potion lab.

Reservation in place, Romilda proceeded to the front desk and announced that she was none other than Jane Doe, the daughter of one John Doe, who had dropped her off at the hotel with his credit card so that she could check-in while he attended an important meeting.

The clerk was skeptical, but her suspicion melted away as soon as Romilda dropped Harry's black-painted Gringotts credit card on the counter with a loud, metallic clang. The clerk confirmed the reservation on her computer, checked Romilda in, and summoned a stiff bellhop to show Romilda to her suite.

After locking the door behind the bellhop, Romilda apparated back to Privet Drive, where she found an irritated owl from Gringotts waiting to be relieved of its burden. Romilda accepted delivery of the loaner pensieve and sent the owl back to Gringotts with a note asking Silveredge to locate her a large flat in London that could be rented for an indefinite period of time.

Then, gingerly, Romilda climbed onto the transfigured bed next to Harry, put an arm around him, and apparated him to their suite at The Savoy. Romilda's aim was true, so the two of them appeared atop one of the beds in the suite. She then apparated back to Privet Drive to collect the pensieve and cast the last spells to eradicate any hint of her having ever visited Privet Drive.

* * *

Using the loaner pensieve proved to be much simpler than Romilda had expected. Within an hour after transporting Harry to The Savoy, Romilda had extracted several potion recipes from her memory and had begun the process of brewing the potions. While those potions brewed, Romilda set about to casting various charms around the suite that would deflect unwanted attention and better enable her to brew potions without the hotel management learning that she had lit fires in their luxury suite.

With those tasks completed and nothing to do for a while, Romilda flopped onto the other bed in the suite, just next to Harry's bed, and napped until the timer on the brewing potions woke her up. Wasting no time, Romilda finished the potions and dosed Harry with them.

The effect on Harry was immediate. A ghost of a smile lit up Harry's face. _Much better_ , he observed to Romilda through their telepathic link before plunging into a deep and peaceful slumber.

* * *

Over the course of the next twenty-four hours, Romilda continued to extract potion recipes from her memories, set potions to brewing, and sneak in sleep and food here and there while letting Harry remain in a peaceful slumber. At the end of those twenty-four hours, Romilda had the beginning of a modest stockpile of potions.

When Harry awoke, she fed him a full meal and dosed him with a full set of potions. The potions made Harry sleepy, but with having just slept for an entire day, Harry was able to resist the drowsiness.

 _What … … … happened?_ he asked Romilda.

Romilda eagerly began explaining the situation to Harry, but was soon disappointed. Although Harry was curious, he was struggling to comprehend and absorb the information. After about an hour, Harry had fallen asleep without learning much.

Sighing, Romilda returned to brewing potions and waiting for the next opportunity to discuss matters with Harry.

* * *

Romilda was feeding Harry breakfast and attempting to explain to him more about their situation when an owl delivered an invitation from Silveredge for Romilda to meet with him at Gringotts. Hoping that Silveredge had made progress with the search for a flat to rent and wondering if he had found a pensieve, Romilda finished up with Harry, checked the status of her potions, and then apparated to Gringotts, where she was promptly shown into Silveredge's office.

It seemed that the pensieve hunt was still ongoing. As for flats, Silveredge had compiled a list, which he provided to Romilda with the assurance that he could make arrangements as soon as she selected one. From there, Silveredge moved to advising Romilda on other matters.

"Your parents and the Ministry are becoming concerned over your disappearance," Silveredge informed Romilda in a markedly disinterested tone of voice as he produced a _Daily Prophet_ from a desk drawer and placed it in front of Romilda. It had been folded over so that page three was showing.

Romilda pursed her lips as she glanced down at the newspaper and saw a small photo of herself with an article explaining that Romilda Vane had gone missing, had been thought to be a runaway, but was now feared to be the victim of foul play.

This triggered a storm of conflicting feeling that Romilda had been avoiding. Refusing to resolve this matter, Romilda shoved her feelings aside. "And?" she asked the goblin, daring him to meddle with her personal decisions.

"At the very least, you should be aware that people will be keeping their eye out for you," the goblin advised. "Perhaps we should arrange for a _Daily Prophet_ subscription for you so that you may keep current on events. I trust that you know how to be discreet."

"Let's do that," Romilda said.

Romilda and Silveredge discussed various other matters that did not result in any immediate decisions before Romilda took the list of potential flats and departed from Gringotts. After checking in on Harry, she commenced with her tour of the flats on the list, spending a few minutes at each location.

Having visited each location, Romilda returned to The Savoy. There, she fed Harry and dosed him with more potions before going over the list and marking the listings that she considered acceptable. She then wrote and delivered to the bank a note to Silveredge instructing him to make arrangements to rent and furnish one of the flats she had marked.

* * *

While waiting for arrangements to be made for the new flat, Romilda quickly settled into the uneventful routine of preparing potions and caring for Harry while trying to help him comprehend their situation. He was making slow but steady progress with soaking in information and gaining control over his motor functions.

The routine only lasted a couple of days before Romilda was confronted with a conundrum. It came in the form of Harry's Hogwarts letter, which was delivered with breakfast one morning. Romilda did not initially identify Harry's Hogwarts letter as a problem.

 _Your Hogwarts letter arrived_ , she informed Harry as she fed him. _At the rate you are progressing, I do not know that Hogwarts is in your immediate future. We can worry about that in a few weeks, though._

Harry became agitated. Though he did not say anything, Romilda could sense his feelings.

 _Is there something wrong?_ Romilda asked.

 _Wand … … … Pensieve_ , Harry said.

Romilda paused Harry's breakfast and fetched the loaned pensieve. She placed it on Harry's lap and handed over her stolen wand to him.

With painstaking slowness, Harry brought the wand to his head, pulled out a memory, and deposited it into the pensieve. He repeated this process twice more before dropping the wand, leaning back, and slipping into a deep slumber.

Romilda set aside Harry's unfinished breakfast before taking the pensieve to a table and jumping into the memories Harry had provided. There, Romilda witnessed two memories that showed her what would happen if his Hogwarts letter was ignored. And then, she witnessed Hagrid's arrival with the final letter and the trip to Diagon Alley that followed.

Thoughtfully, Romilda exited the pensieve and stepped over to one of the suite's windows. As she looked out the window and over the city of London, Romilda stewed over her options. In light of Harry's apparent wish to avoid the consequences displayed in the pensieve and given Harry's adamant refusal to seek treatment at St. Mungo's, either the Hogwarts staff would need to be convinced that Harry Potter had received his letter and would board the Hogwarts Express without assistance or Harry Potter would have to disappear thoroughly enough to avoid more Hogwarts letters and a visit from the school staff.

Concluding that either option would require the assistance of Gringotts, Romilda retrieved her wand and apparated directly to the bank. There, Romilda was immediately shown into Silveredge's office, where she explained to the goblin banker the choice before her and requested a summary of various of means and costs to achieve the goal.

"Considering the amount of money available for Mr. Potter, the cost difference is negligible," Silveredge informed Romilda dispassionately. "The bank is prepared to help you pursue either strategy."

Romilda sighed, and, without the assistance of a tie-breaker such as cost, she began turning the options over in her head again. The option of simply disappearing seemed more attractive to Romilda. It was easier. She had the training and experience to remain in hiding for as long as necessary.

Silveredge cleared his throat. "If I may be so bold, I could hint at what you ought to do, Miss Vane."

Romilda gestured her assent.

"If Harry Potter goes missing, a panic will ensue," the goblin predicted.

With that, Romilda recalled that she and Harry were members of the Order of the Phoenix and were supposed to be actively engaged in fighting Lord Voldemort. With Harry incapacitated, command had fallen to her shoulders. His disappearance could prematurely embolden Death Eater sympathizers, as would the discovery and publication of the fact that Harry was all but mentally incapacitated.

"You are right," Romilda observed as she straightened up her in chair. "We must convince everyone involved that Harry Potter has received his Hogwarts letter and will board the Hogwarts Express in due course."

Silveredge nodded his approval. "Very good, ma'am. How would you like to proceed?"

This deflated Romilda a bit. "Well, how can we pull it off?"

A toothy grin broke across Silveredge's face. "Very easily."

* * *

After a couple of hours or so of careful planning with Silveredge, Romilda returned to her and Harry's suite at The Savoy with a small parcel in hand, which she put away before resuming her potion brewing duties. As soon as Harry awoke, Romilda approached him with a fresh tray of food and potion doses. On the tray was his Hogwarts letter.

 _Harry, I need you to open the letter_ , Romilda told him before launching into a full explanation of what she was about to do.

He seemed to approve and held out his hands for the letter. Romilda dropped the letter into his hands and watched as he slowly broke the seal. As soon as the seal was broken, Romilda took back the letter and opened it, not bothering to read the familiar text. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she set the letter aside and moved onto Harry's potion and meal.

* * *

The next morning, as soon as she had taken care of Harry, Romilda went to work. Instead of casting laundering spells on her shabby charcoal dress, she transfigured a number of towels from the bathroom into boy clothes and boy shoes before donning them.

Having dressed like a boy, Romilda retrieved the parcel she had brought back from the bank, opened it, and retrieved from therein a vial of Polyjuice potion. She plucked a hair from Harry's head and dropped it in before quaffing the contents of the vial.

As soon as the transformation was complete, Romilda proceeded to the bathroom where she examined the result in the mirror. The mirror revealed that Romilda had become a perfect duplicate of Harry, right down to the scar on his forehead.

With a broad smile, Romilda grabbed the parcel from the bank and departed for Diagon Alley.

* * *

Romilda entered the Leaky Cauldron. Playing the part of one who had never been to Diagon Alley, she made her way to the bar where she respectfully asked if she could have help getting into Diagon Alley.

The bartender looked at Romilda curiously. After a moment, his eyes made their way to her forehead, where he saw the scar.

"Bless my soul," whispered the bartender, "Harry Potter … what an honor."

With that, the customers swarmed Romilda, who politely returned the greetings before allowing herself to be escorted to Diagon Alley proper. From there, she proceeded to stop at the post office to send an owl to Hogwarts advising the staff of Harry's intent to matriculate. After that, she began shopping for all the items on the list. Per the terms of an agreement with Silveredge, Romilda stayed far away from the bank so that the goblins would not be implicated if Romilda's charade was prematurely discovered.

Everything went smoothly. No shopkeeper suspected for even a moment that Romilda was an imposter. Romilda was also able to get by without having to interact with anybody extensively. Because it was still July and only one day after the letters had been sent, Romilda was likely the first Hogwarts student to go shopping for supplies.

Romilda saved the wand shop for last. The wandmaker's penchant for guessing the identity of his customers and remembering their wands had worried her the most. But, Silveredge had been confident that the Polyjuice would do its job so long as Romilda avoided unnecessary conversation with Ollivander.

It turned out that Romilda need not have worried at all. Ollivander took one look at her face, eyes, and scar and identified her as Harry Potter. The measuring tape was soon measuring as Ollivander nattered on about the wands of Harry's parents and the wand that had given Harry his scar.

Interestingly, it seemed as if the measurements from the measuring tape mattered because Ollivander was relying on them and was not finding his way to the right wand. If Romilda remembered correctly, he had shown her an entirely different set of wands when she had purchased hers at the age of eleven.

An increasingly large pile of ill-fitting wands gathered on the counter as the wandmaker searched for a wand that would fit Romilda. Eventually, with an air of drama and foreboding, Ollivander produced a holly and phoenix feather wand eleven inches long. Romilda grasped it and felt a faint glow and a tingle in her mind.

Ollivander was frowning as he watched her grasp the wand.

"Is it a match?" Romilda asked.

"Not quite," Ollivander said, "but it is has come closer than any other wand. It resonates with you, but I do not think it is destined to be your principal wand."

"Why would it do that?" Romilda asked.

"Its brother gave you that scar," Ollivander informed Romilda.

"I see," Romilda said as she realized that she was holding Harry Potter's wand.

Ollivander took the wand back from Romilda, but instead of placing it in the discard pile, he set it by itself on the end of the counter. "We will find the perfect match," he reassured Romilda.

The matching attempts resumed. Eventually, Ollivander abandoned all pretense of trying to pick out a wand with skill and insight and simply began giving Romilda every wand to try. Eventually, a wand reacted well to Romilda—a feminine-looking, ten-inch wand of blackthorn and dragon heartstring.

"I think you will be able to go on to do great and powerful things with that wand," Ollivander observed.

Romilda shrugged and tried to act like an embarrassed child just on the cusp of attending Hogwarts. As Ollivander began to clean up wands from the discard pile, Romilda pointed to the holly and phoenix feather wand that had been set aside. "That wand was nearly a match. May I buy it?"

Ollivander seemed hesitant. "It isn't common for one to buy multiple wands at a time," he hedged.

Romilda suddenly had an idea. "Can I test it again?"

"I suppose," Ollivander agreed. He opened the box, plucked out the wand, and held it out for the person he thought was Harry Potter.

Before accepting the wand, Romilda directed her focus to the part of the mind that was Harry and plunged in like she had on the first day in the past. This time, instead of the chaos into which she feared she would fall and never return, she found that everything had slowed considerably.

Barely able to move her own muscles while focusing her attention on Harry's mind, Romilda gestured, and Ollivander placed the holly and phoenix feather wand into her hand. Warmth bloomed in Romilda's hand, and a stream of red and golden sparks exploded from the tip of the wand.

Quickly, Romilda disentangled herself from Harry's mind as Ollivander exclaimed over having discovered a double match.

"I will expect great and wondrous things of you," Ollivander told Romilda as she opened her parcel from the bank and doled out enough galleons to purchase the two wands.


End file.
